A drop of chili landed on her thumb and she brought her hand to her lips and sucked the chili off.
He bit back a groan.
Hungering after a woman with such intensity wasn’t his thing, never had been, not even with Red. Sure, he saw a hot broad, he thought about taking her to bed, but it didn’t occupy his mind to the exclusion of everything else.
Besides, Alessandra Bellini wasn’t hot.
Okay. She was.
But she wasn’t that hot.
No makeup. Dirt on her face. A baggy T and equally baggy scrubs.
He’d never dealt with a woman quite like her before. Yes, she was a powerful man’s daughter. And yes, she had no real focus in life. A designer. Right. Weren’t they all?
Still, there was more to her, something he hadn’t yet figured out.
All that toughness. The determination. The insistence that she could do anything he could do, and he couldn’t flatter himself by believing it had anything to do trying to impress him.
How come?
Women were always trying to impress him, starting way back in high school, when he’d discovered that standing six feet two inches tall, having thick black hair and hazel eyes was a surefire ticket to success.
And what was with the jaguar thing? He’d dated women who wore fur—it wasn’t as if he was a reformer of some kind, although the waste of that kind of killing troubled him—but how did her being a vegetarian square with that?
He could ask her, but, really, there was no point. She’d probably come up with some Zen explanation that would make his head explode.
Besides, it wasn’t his business. What she did with her life had nothing to do with him.
It wasn’t as if they’d ever see each other again after they got back to the States.
She looked up, as if she’d felt him watching her. He broke eye contact, dug his spoon into the food and began eating. He had no appetite, but he needed the calories, the protein, the carbs, the nutrients some dietitian had carefully determined were necessary to keep a man fit for combat and survival.
When he’d finished, he began collecting all the small bags that had been packed inside the main one.
He looked at Alessandra. She’d opened a little bag that contained chocolates and she was eating them one at a time, eyes closed with pleasure. He watched her slick the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and he thought that if a man was going to die of heart failure, this might be a fucking fine way to go.
It just wasn’t a good way to start the night.
No. It would be okay. She’d sleep under the tarp. He’d sleep here, by the fire.
“Aren’t you going to eat yours?”
“What?”
“Your chocolates.”
“Oh.” He picked up the bag of candy that had been part of his meal and tossed it to her. “All yours,” he said briskly.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “I always have something sweet before bedtime, but I didn’t think that would be possible out here.”
If only he had a handlebar mustache. Now would be the time to twirl it and tell her how easily something sweet before bedtime could be arranged.
All his blood pooled in his groin. He swung away, fast. Turning his back on her was the only safe bet.